


your birthday suit

by dramaturgicallycorrect, veryniceandgood



Series: niall and jack (and sometimes harry) [3]
Category: Dunkirk (2017) RPF, One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-31
Updated: 2018-02-25
Packaged: 2019-03-11 23:20:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13534680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dramaturgicallycorrect/pseuds/dramaturgicallycorrect, https://archiveofourown.org/users/veryniceandgood/pseuds/veryniceandgood
Summary: He’s twitching in a different way this time, watching them silently, not thinking, 'what if they’re fucking?' anymore. More thinking, 'what if they were fucking me?'[Or Harry has a very happy birthday.]





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [coldbam](https://archiveofourown.org/users/coldbam/gifts).



> to [coldbam](http://www.coldbam.tumblr.com) \- thatwasforyou.gif
> 
> to everyone else - there’s helpful context for this fic in [part one](http://archiveofourown.org/works/13194429). thank you for coming on this howden journey with us; we hope you enjoy!

Harry’s got an overwhelming sense of déjà vu, standing there at Niall’s front door, swinging a bottle of Malbec in a carrier bag. He might even be wearing the same boots he was back in December, now that he thinks of it.

But he’s not late this time. Blew off a birthday dinner with Grimmy and Lou and Sam and at least seven of their friends with less than a day of notice, in fact– all based off Niall’s text of _youre in ldn right ? dinner at mine tomorrow ?_ Niall hadn’t said anything about the (possible) joke that he and Jack had made last time they’d seen each other, while they were pushing Harry out the door. Harry would be surprised if Niall didn’t realize it was his birthday, what with his perfectly-calibrated internal calendar and twitter probably reminding him relentlessly, but he doesn’t even know if Jack’s actually in London.

But it _is_ Harry’s birthday and he just couldn’t take the chance that they were serious and he’d missed it, so. Here he is. Waiting.

Harry’s raising a fist to knock again when the door swings open to reveal Jack. He’s resplendent in a hunter green jumper and jeans, argyle socks showing at his ankles and he’s already opening his arms for Harry.

Harry breathes a deep sigh of relief and stumbles over the step up into the house in his eagerness to get inside, to get to Jack. Jack takes hold of his upper arms with a grin and hauls him the rest of the way in.

“Come here, birthday boy. Niall will kill me if you concuss yourself before I even get you in the door.”

Harry finds his footing and manages to get himself pushed up against Jack’s chest.

“Hi, hi, sorry,” he says, flustered, as Jack crushes him into a hug. God, he smells good, woodsy like Niall does, instead of that detergent scent he usually gets off Jack. The couple fusion into one person must be nearing completion.

“Is this the same wine you brought last time?” Jack is already pulling the bag out of his hands, “Sick, I loved this. Get your shoes off– Niall’s just finishing up dinner.”

Harry toes his boots off, nestling them into the shelf next to Niall’s Vans and Jack’s beat-up… hiking boots? He makes a mental note to figure out when Jack’s birthday is– maybe he can get YSL to send him over something… better.

He trails after Jack into the kitchen once his coat is stored, still hoping in an abstract way that “dinner” will mean Niall laid out on the table with whipped cream on his bits like in Varsity Blues. He tries hard not to be disappointed when he rounds the corner into the kitchen to find Niall, fully-clothed, casually chopping a chicken breast and tossing it into a bowl of salad.

“Heyyy! Happy birthday!”

Niall sounds thrilled to see him, and Harry’s chest goes warm and gooey like it always does when Niall’s pleased with him.

Niall flicks his eyes between Jack and the knife he’s setting down on the cutting board and Jack catches the cue to take over so Niall can come around the counter to squeeze Harry into his side.

Niall ruffles a hand through Harry’s hair, scratching a bit with his short nails behind Harry’s ear.

“This get cut again?”

“Yeah,” Harry beams, chuffed that Niall’s noticed. “Gonna keep it short a while, I think.”

“Yeah, short looks better with them suits, I think,” Niall agrees and that gooey feeling behind Harry’s sternum intensifies.

“Speaking of suits, I’m not done going on about that Paul Smith from the other week.”

Harry brings it up innocently as he can, not in a _I wish I could have taken it off you_ kind of way. More in a _look, I was good, I answered your texts_ kind of way. He’s made the effort. It’s high time for the reward.

Even if the reward is just the way Niall’s face lights up at the compliment and says, “Yeah?”

“Yeah, like, I kind of want to rub my face on it. Is that weird?”

“Yes,” Niall says, just at the same time Jack says, “Nah.”

Niall laughs in that exasperated sort of way that means he’s finished with talking about it now. “You wanna set the table, H? We’re just about done in here.”

Harry sets out the three place settings with none of the ill-temper he felt last time. But he’s still on high-alert, waiting for some sign of whether this is just a platonic birthday dinner with friends or, you know. The other thing.

Niall brings in the bowl of salad and Jack follows behind with the wine. They settle in around the table, Harry settled in at the head of the table, Niall and Jack on either side of him. The two of them tuck in with gusto, trading congratulations over their fine work. Harry’s feeling too twitchy to do much more than push it around his bowl.

He’s twitching in a different way this time, watching them silently, not thinking, _what if they’re fucking?_ anymore. More thinking, _what if they were fucking me?_

He thinks he’s making up for it by talking nonsense, about the thirty-day yoga challenge he finished in twelve days. He used to do that when he was a kid, faced with a dinner he didn’t want to eat, just chattering away while his mum cleared her plate, so she wouldn’t realize he’d not had any of it.

“I’m sure if it’s planned to be thirty days, it’s meant to be thirty days,” Jack says.

“It’s not a competition, H,” Niall adds reasonably.

“I know it’s not,” Harry says, nearing defensive. Of course it’s not a competition; it’s yoga. But if it were a competition, Harry would have won.

He thinks his mindless chatter is working, but after a while, Niall narrows his eyes at Harry.

“What’s wrong with your salad?”

“What? Nothing! It’s–”

“I put loads of sweetcorn in it and you _know_ that’s just for you– no one else puts corn in a salad.”

“They do too,” Harry pouts, thinking of Café Habana, although it’s possible they only do it because of him. He loves to be accommodated, is the thing. He sticks a big forkful in his mouth and smiles at Niall around it.

“There’s my gracious, charming boy.”

“Can’t believe you didn’t have anything more exciting planned than hanging around with us old farts for your birthday,” Jack cuts in. Harry wonders sometimes if Jack realizes he and Niall are both still in their mid-twenties.

He squirms in his seat, thinking for one guilty moment of his friends celebrating his birthday without him at The Ned.

“Oh, um, this sounded… this sounded really good.”

His phone buzzes insistently in his back pocket with what Harry’s sure is yet another accusatory text from Lou or Nick and he shifts uncomfortably.

“And you’re not old. Or farty,” he adds generously.

“He’s a nice young man, isn’t he,” Niall says to Jack, a hand going over his heart.

“Mm, a credit to his generation,” Jack answers.

Harry feels a foot brush past his ankle and he can’t tell which one of them it belongs to, but it’s enough to at least temporarily assuage any doubts he had about bailing out of his plans.

They finish dinner quickly– Harry almost feels insulted, like they’re trying to get it over with. And Niall hadn’t cooked that much anyways. What’s a salad, but just throwing bits together in the one bowl? Harry wonders bitterly if maybe he’s been demoted to twenty minute Jamie Olivers instead of thirty now that Jack’s in the picture.

But then Niall is motioning excitedly at Jack and a pile of presents appears beside Harry’s bowl and his spirits raise considerably. Niall is _so good_ at presents.

“Open ‘em, open ‘em, go on.”

Harry is loath to destroy the pristine packaging, which must have been the work of Niall’s PA, but he does as he’s told. He unveils his favorite kind of leather notebook and a lovely, weighty Montblanc pen and his voice is embarrassingly thick as he gives his thanks. It’s nice sometimes, the reminder that there are some people who really know him, know the things he’s always using up or losing or wanting more of.

Niall gives his shoulder a squeeze.

“You haven’t even gotten to the best one, Haz.”

Harry picks up the last package, flat and square, and pulls the paper off. It’s an original pressing of Sticky Fingers– crotch shot bold and almost embarrassing to be looking at in polite company, working zipper and all.

“You’re _kidding_.”

Jack is leaning back in his chair, looking smug.

“Found it by chance on Brick Lane. Sick, huh?”

“I love it, Jack. Thank you so much,” Harry says sincerely.

“You know Andy Warhol did the art for it, right? Designed all the packaging and stuff. We were looking it up the other night.”

Harry feels warm, at the thought of the two of them, maybe cuddled up in Niall’s bed, reading about the Rolling Stones, for Harry. It’s nice, that they talk about him when he’s not there.

“Okay now, Harry,” Niall says seriously. “There’s one more thing.”

Harry goes stiff with anticipation. This is it. Has to be. This is why they asked him over, why they rushed through dinner. They’re gonna fuck and it’s gonna be glorious and he’s gonna be writing songs about it till he’s dead.

“Stay here,” Niall commands, going so far as to point at Harry like he’s a poorly-trained labradoodle.

Niall dims the lights on his way out and Harry’s mind races.

Is Niall getting changed? Is he going to do a striptease for Harry? Oh god, is he putting on a costume?

Jack follows Niall out of the room and Harry wonders if they’re going to do some sort of erotic roleplay for his benefit right here on the dining table. He wonders if Jack will be a fireman.

He doesn’t know where to put his presents, the rest of the dishes, assuming they’ll want to dramatically rid the table of its contents in one comprehensive sex-crazed swipe. He wants that– very, _very_ much– but there’s nothing attractive about glass in your bits and a busted original pressing of one of Harry’s Top Ten Favorite Erections.

Harry’s about to vibrate out of his skin when Niall calls from the other room, “Okay, close your eyes.”

Harry leaves everything where it is and claps his hands over his eyes, wanting whatever they have planned to have its full impact. He hears a shuffling in the doorway.

“Okay… open them.”

Niall is standing before him, looking pleased as punch, holding one of Harry’s very favorite tequila-lime cakes from La Monarca Bakery in Santa Monica, its smooth buttercream top marred by a haphazard scattering of birthday candles. Harry wonders distractedly if they really counted out twenty-four.

Niall’s still got all his clothes on. Harry glances hopefully over at Jack, who’s carrying in dessert plates and forks, but tragically, he’s got his clothes on too.

Damn. And Harry had been _so_ sure.

Niall and Jack begin singing happy birthday to him, loud and unembarrassed, and Harry smiles gamely at them, blowing out the candles with an exaggerated huff when it’s time.

“Are you surprised?” Niall asks eagerly. “D’you like it?”

“I love it,” Harry declares, swiping a fingertip through the icing and sucking it off. “How did you even get this?”

“Had Ben pick it up and bring it back with him on the plane last week,” Niall says smugly. “The people at the bakery said it’d keep frozen for up to a month so I just defrosted it yesterday.”

“This is amazing,” Harry says, swiping another bit of icing. It’s subtle, of course, the drag of Harry’s tongue up his finger. Because this moment’s about the cake. “I can’t believe you did this for me.”

Niall looks unbearably pleased with himself and Jack is watching him, his eyes gone soft and fond.

Well, Harry thinks, even if they don’t end up giving him the seeing-to he deserves, he really can’t think of a lovelier way to spend his birthday.

Jack cuts them all a piece and Harry groans around the first mouthful. It’s truly the best cake on earth and he hasn’t had it in months. He loves Niall, he loves him.

“Enjoying yourself there, Harry?” Jack asks.

Harry grins lasciviously as he pulls the fork out of his mouth.

“Are you?”

Jack throws him a smirk before going back to his own cake.

Before Harry’s ready, they’re all finished. He glances around at their empty plates and feels a sinking sensation in his stomach. He doesn’t want to go yet. He’d try to invent some sort of reason to stay, but he’s left his copy of The Holiday at home.

Jack tosses his napkin onto the table and pats his stomach soundly.

“That was perfect. Thanks for cooking, Nialler.”

“Yeah, Niall, thank you– thank you both so much, this was really great.” He knows he shouldn’t be feeling an unsaid, _it wasn't everything,_ because Harry’s nothing if not grateful.

He’s already reaching for his gifts to start packing up to head home when Jack claps his hands together.

“Harry?”

Harry’s head swivels toward him automatically at the commanding tone.

“Yes?”

“Shall we get you to the bedroom now? Are you up for it?”

Harry jolts and his eyes practically roll back in his head, he’s so relieved. But before he can even get his mouth open to say “Yes, yes, _god_ yes,” Niall is already cutting across him with a sharp, “ _Jack._ ”

“Sorry, sorry. You’re right, love. Your show.”

“Before we get too carried away, we need to talk. About our boundaries and ground rules.”

Harry nods eagerly. Having Niall tell him what to do has the potential to be just as good as foreplay.

“Harry, we both feel a bit bad about not telling you we were dating. But that is _not_ why we’re doing this.”

“Okay…”

Niall takes a deep breath.

“We just want to, is all. You’re hot, you’re our friend, you want to– you do want to, right?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Harry says, nodding his head emphatically. “Yes, please.”

“Okay,” Niall says, as if reassuring himself. “Okay then, that’s good. So we need boundaries. Rules.”

Harry frowns. “Says who?”

“The article I read! Shut up, Harry, before I change my mind!”

Niall’s going red but he’s also right on the verge of laughter, Harry can tell. He can’t believe Niall did research– or actually, yes, of course he can. They even researched the album they got him. It’s a nice thought though, Niall and Jack talking about this. Wanting this. Wanting Harry.

Harry puts his hands in his lap and looks at Niall attentively.

“I’m sorry. Please tell me the rules.”

Niall closes his eyes as if he’s visualizing a script he’d written for himself earlier.

“Jack and I are in a relationship. You are not invited to be in our relationship; however we are happy to share our bed with you tonight. Y’know, um. Sexually.”

“He knows, Niall,” Jack laughs. “Think he’s got what we’re going for here figured out.”

“You’d be shocked at what he doesn’t know.”

“Heeeey,” Harry says, his face working back into a frown. That’s not how this is meant to go, it’s his birthday. Unless. Unless this _is_ how it’s meant to go. Harry’s fingers dig into his thighs and he stays quiet, good.

“ _Anyway_. This is _not_ an invitation to grope me or my boyfriend any time you want in the future.”

Jack grins a pleased little grin at being called Niall’s boyfriend. Christ, they really are in deep.

“This is just for tonight. Unless we all really like it and maybe we can do it again for other birthdays or special occasions. If any one of us wants to stop at any time for any reason, we stop, no questions asked. We can just go watch a movie and eat more of that cake, no hard feelings. Okay?”

“Yes, I’m– I’ll… yeah. Yes. Okay.”

“Do you have anything you’d like to add before we go back to the bedroom?” Jack asks kindly.

Harry doesn’t. He trusts both of them, and honestly he feels like he’s been made to wait long enough already.

“No, let’s go now please.”

Niall looks over at Jack, who tilts his head and twitches his lips. Niall nods and Harry holds his breath as he waits for whatever silent couple judgment they’ve passed. They rise first, Harry stumbling to his feet as quick as he can manage so there’s no chance they’ll leave him behind because he’s lumbering too slow.

Harry’s gratified to see that Niall leaves all their plates and glasses on the table without insisting on washing up first. He really isn’t just doing this for Harry– he’s eager. He wants it too.

Harry follows Niall dumbly back to his bedroom, tracing a path through the new house that he’s never taken before. It feels like being granted a privilege this time, for the first time, where before access to Niall’s bedroom was understood. Taken for granted. It’s a holy place now, they’re taking a pilgrimage. To ideally do some… rather unholy things.

He feels like he’s about to float up to the ceiling until Jack comes up behind him and lays his hands on Harry’s shoulders to steer him through the hall. Jack’s hands have a new weight and heat to them now, and Harry’s mind is racing.

They pause in the doorway and watch as Niall walks around, lighting the candles placed around the room. There’s one right by Niall’s blue plastic retainer case on the bedside table, Harry notes. The bed is freshly made, sheets tucked in tight, corners crisp. Harry wonders if they really take the time to make the bed this nicely every day, or if these are fresh clean sheets. If they’re for him.

Harry’s eyes catch on the retainer again. There’s no pretension in that, no smoothing out the room so it looks picture perfect. This is their life Harry’s stepped right into, a stunning sort of reality that can’t truly be real.

Harry’s fists clench and unclench at his side. He can’t believe they’re really doing this. They are, aren’t they? Oh god, what if this is some elaborate, cruel joke? What if they laugh in his face and kick him out and spend the rest of the night touching each other’s butts and making fun of him?

Jack presses up against Harry’s back, the curve of him against his arse, which buzzes in anticipation, Harry thinks, until he realizes it’s his phone.

Jack leans in and whispers, just under his breath, into Harry’s ear. “You need to get that?”

Niall looks over at him then, the match suspended above a wick, and there’s something in his features that makes Harry think this is a test. He can’t fail it.

“No, I– no.” Harry fishes the phone out, clocks that it’s Grimmy, ringing this time, so he’s either drunk pissed or angry pissed. Maybe for the first time since he’s had this phone, Harry presses and holds the off button until the screen says _Slide to power off._ He slides and the screen goes black.

Niall turns back to the candle, and there’s something new in the set of his jaw, the slightest curve of his lips, that says Harry’s passed.

Jack plucks the phone out of Harry’s hand and does something with it Harry can’t see. That hand finds Harry’s waist after, squeezing just a little as Jack asks, “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Harry takes a deep breath. “I’m good.”

“Okay then. Let’s get in there.”

Niall blows his match out with a flourish, and turns toward them expectantly. Jack stays close to Harry, guiding him into their bedroom with a hand on the small of his back. Niall gives him a little nod and Jack pulls off his jumper to reveal one of his favored black tees and hops onto the bed, leaning back against the headboard with his legs spread.

“Wouldn’t mind if you sat in my lap for real this time. Why don’t you go ahead and get your kit off?”

Harry breathes an internal sigh of relief; it feels good to stop overthinking everything and just do what Jack says. If he does what Jack says, everything will be alright. Everyone will feel good and enjoy themselves and Harry won’t get banished to a guest room for being a disappointing lay.

Harry almost immediately trips over his own jeans.

He’d gotten ambitious and tried to get his jeans and pants down all at once and Niall has to catch him roughly by the elbow to keep him from hitting the ground.

“You alright there, H?” Niall asks through a grin.

“Yes,” Harry says, finding his footing with perfect dignity.

“Good. Take your shirt off, you look like Winnie the Pooh.”

Jack barely stifles a snort and Harry fights the urge to scowl, instead opting for an attempt to salvage the moment by pulling his shirt off slowly over his head. The effect may be slightly dampened by the fact that they’ve now seen his dick bouncing embarrassingly against his thigh as he stumbled around with his pants around his ankles, but Harry can usually count on his abs to turn things around for him.

“Alright, showoff,” Niall says, grabbing Harry’s shirt out of his hands and tossing it onto a chair in the corner of the bedroom.

Harry looks between them in the quiet moment they take the length of him in. He knows they must be noticing that he’s sporting a semi even though he hasn’t been kissed yet, has barely even been touched.

Jack hums, and if Harry’s being generous with himself, the hum sounds pleased, maybe even impressed.

Niall nods off toward Jack. “Get up there.” And if Harry’s being _really_ generous with himself, Niall’s voice sounds a gratifying level of rough and low.

He’s allowed to be generous with himself. It’s his birthday.

Jack’s patting his thighs again, like he did the last time they saw each other, and Harry’s cheeks go even redder.

He crawls onto the bed quickly– it seems like it’ll go easier once he’s got someone touching him. Jack seems somehow to sense this, and pulls him in as soon as he can reach, bracketing Harry between his legs.

Jack’s still in his clothes, the rough rub of his jeans on the bare skin of Harry’s thighs raising goosebumps on his skin. Jack’s got his arms around Harry, tight around his waist, and his chest is solid and broad against Harry’s back.

Harry can feel the barest trace of Jack’s beard as he says, “There you are now. That’s a bit better, isn’t it?”

It is, actually. Harry has thought about sucking Jack’s dick, maybe Jack sucking his. Has thought about Jack holding him down, making him come, on a number of occasions. In vivid, almost excruciating detail.

But he hadn’t thought about this, about what it might be like for Jack to hold him like this, to make sure he was okay. One of his thumbs traces a short path up and down Harry’s hip, mindless like it’s a well-worn habit. It’s soothing enough that Harry relaxes into him, vertebra by vertebra.

There’s a moment where Harry wonders exactly how he’ll manage to little spoon both of them at once after, both of their hands collected around his waist, but that leaves his head once Harry blinks his eyes back open.

Niall’s made short work of his clothes, he’s standing at the foot of the bed in just his tight white briefs. He only gets one knee onto the bed before Harry finds his voice.

“No!”

“No?”

“Come on, Niall. It’s my birthday,” Harry wheedles.

“Yeah, come on Nialler,” Jack joins in. “It’s his _birthday_.”

Niall looks between the two of them, unimpressed. “Not enough that I’m gonna suck your cock then, is it?”

Harry’s stomach clenches under Jack’s hands and he can feel blood rushing to his dick. But still–

“No.”

Niall rolls his eyes.

“Come on, Niall. I want to see it.”

“You have seen it,” Niall points out.

Yeah, Harry’s seen Niall in his pants, half the bloody world has seen Niall in his pants. Niall in tight white briefs is recorded on film to keep for all eternity. It’s worth recording for posterity, honestly. Niall’s a sight any which way he’s dressed, but.

It’s the prize underneath that Harry wants, an eyeful of it and maybe, if he’s lucky, a handful or a mouthful too. Harry’s lasted seven years of brief flashes of Niall’s dick while changing, soft and quickly tucked away. It’s time for years of unresolved sexual tension to flip firmly to resolved.

Jack hooks his chin over Harry’s shoulder and tips his head against Harry’s.

“It’s a really nice one. Worth all the waiting, I think.”

Niall sighs, put upon, but there’s a blush creeping up his chest and he’s sliding his knee back off the bed and Harry knows he’s won.

Niall hooks his thumbs into the waistband of his pants and peels them down his skinny legs, his dick hanging heavily between his legs as he stands back up, already filling out.

Jack’s right, it _is_ a nice dick. Made, perhaps, even nicer by the fact that Harry has been waiting _so long_ to see it. Hard. For Harry.

Jack makes a low noise of approval in the back of his throat and his arms tighten momentarily around Harry.

Niall gets a knee back on the bed and starts crawling up toward them, and Harry’s throat goes dry at the play of Niall’s shoulder blades under his skin, the intent look on his face.

Niall crawls right up between Harry’s legs, eyes set on Harry’s, no hesitation. He lifts a hand and rubs his thumb carefully over Harry’s lower lip, so light it’s almost ticklish, and Harry focuses very hard on staying still, on not pressing forward into Niall’s touch.

“Okay?”

“Yeah,” Harry breathes. “Okay.”

Niall moves forward slowly, as if Harry’s going to spook– as if, with Jack solid and warm behind him, there’s anywhere for Harry to go. Niall’s sorely mistaken. Harry would never move from this bed again, rules be damned, if it meant he got to see this ever again. They’re drenched in flickering candlelight, filtered like a fever dream, and Harry wouldn’t be certain it was real, if he didn’t have the insistent press of Jack’s hand, the heat of Niall’s breath against his face as he moves closer.

His lips touch Harry’s softly, so softly, and it’s like Harry’s never been kissed before in his life. His breath catches in his throat and he reaches out blindly, pulling Niall in closer, greedy for it.

Jack chooses this moment to reach between Harry’s legs to cradle his balls in his palm, wrap a loose fist around his cock. His touch is electric and impossible, just the barest traces that makes Harry think he won’t be able to survive whatever comes next.

Harry’s mouth falls open in a gasp and Niall takes the opportunity to push in with his tongue, wet and seeking against Harry’s. Harry can barely keep up, Jack’s hands on him and Niall’s tongue, insistent against his. His fingers curl desperately at the back of Niall’s neck, and it earns him a satisfied noise from Niall’s. _He likes it,_ Harry thinks desperately. _He likes me._

He tips his head back against Jack’s shoulder and Niall follows him, pushing his fingertips into Harry’s hair, rubbing just behind Harry’s ears like he knows Harry likes.

Harry groans as Jack does something clever with his fingers, and Niall pulls back, scraping his teeth over Harry’s lower lip one final time. Harry’s lips buzz from use, like aftershocks already, and if Harry could, he’d travel back in time to visit every version of himself just to say, _we finally kissed Niall and it was everything we ever thought it’d be._

“Jack,” Niall whispers hoarsely. His eyelids are heavy over glassy eyes, and Harry knows he’s done that. He’s done that and he wonders if Jack approves, if Jack’s pleased to see Niall like this.

And then they’re kissing– Harry can feel the scrape of Jack’s jaw against his own as his mouth works against Niall’s, can hear wet sounds they’re making together.

Harry loses one of Jack’s hands to cradling Niall’s face, and it’s a brilliant move. Harry feels a brief flare of irritation that he hadn’t thought of it when he’d had Niall’s face all to himself.

Harry looks at them, and for just a moment he thinks this must have been what it looked like for Jack to see Niall kiss him before he realizes it’s nothing of the sort.

They’re not quiet about it. Niall pushes closer to Jack, his chest threatening to press against Harry’s, his dick coming dangerously close to Harry’s own. Harry doesn’t dare to touch– this isn’t his show– and he’s too mesmerized watching them play each other easily, deftly, with an enviable familiarity, to do anything but stare.

Niall’s panting when he pulls away, sitting back on his heels, and Harry realizes his own kiss-dizzy Niall has nothing on this version. Niall gazes down where Jack’s hands are still moving over Harry’s cock, light and teasing. Not enough to get him off, but enough to make him want it so bad he can barely breathe.

Niall’s eyes drag back up to Jack’s, and they have one of their conversations in absolute silence. It ends with Niall’s eyes going fierce, the right side of his mouth tilting up in a dangerous grin. If that’s what Niall looks like, Harry can’t imagine what Jack does.

“So you’ve seen his then, Nialler?” Jack asks, opening his hands to present Harry’s cock to him, as if it’s his to show off.

“Course I have,” Niall answers, his eyes finding its prize again– the prize obviously being Harry’s dick. He doesn’t reach out like Harry expects him to, his hands frustratingly still at his own sides now that they’re no longer on Jack. “Think he just likes to remind people it’s there– like if he shows them enough maybe they’ll want to touch it.”

Jack gives a dark chuckle and Harry feels vaguely that he should defend himself, but he can’t summon the focus to form a retort and Niall is right anyway. As far as Niall’s concerned, seven years of Regular Harry Nudity has gotten him fuck all. Until now, that is.

“Well Christ, Styles. Not bad.”

Harry means to be polite, say thank you, but all that comes out is a deep groan as Niall drops down to his elbows and takes the tip of Harry’s not bad dick between his lips.

Niall pulls back when Harry attempts to buck his hips forward, only stopped by Jack’s forearm clamped around his middle.

“Calm down, H,” Niall tuts. “I haven’t even gotten started yet.”

“Yeah, careful with that,” Jack interjects, his breath warm and close against Harry’s ear. “His gag reflex is for shit. He’s got to take it at his own pace.”

“Sorry,” Harry pants, so glad he knows that now. He tucks it away in his file of Niall Trivia, just in case there’s a next time. They haven’t even finished this time and Harry’s already desperate for a next time. Apologies spill from his lips, anything to let them keep going, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I won’t-”

“S’okay. Jack will help you out,” Niall murmurs.

Jack pats comfortingly at Harry’s hip and Niall nips sharply at the inside of Harry’s thigh before taking him back into his mouth.

Harry bites down on a scream, smothers it until it becomes a small desperate noise. There might be time for shouting later, if he’s allowed, so he keeps his regular chant of _finally finally finally oh shitting christ finally_ firmly confined to the inside of his own head.

“Can’t believe you’ve genuinely got a crown of laurels tattooed for your knob,” Jack muses, as he pushes his free hand into Niall’s hair, sweeping it off his forehead so he can watch where Harry is disappearing into Niall’s mouth.

“Don’t get me wrong, it’s a lovely cock, but. Not like, _Olympic_ good.”

Harry squirms against Jack, clutching at his thighs through his jeans. Niall will have to feel the way Harry twitches in his mouth as he grinds out, without any sincerity, “Shut up.”

“And this mermaid…”

Jack strokes a finger lightly up Harry’s forearm.

“You may want your money back on this one, Harry. I do not think this is how mermaids work.”

Niall lets Harry’s dick slip out of his mouth at that so he can muffle his guffaw against Harry’s thigh.

Harry, embarrassingly, lets out an honest-to-god whine. They both ignore him, too pleased with their jokes to pay Harry any mind.

“Have you seen the great horrible fly he’s got?” Niall pants. “Fucking classic.”

Jack turns Harry’s arm over and affects a tone of enormous indignation.

“What’s he doing so close to the mermaid! He’s scaring her!”

“Don’t ask questions, he’s got no feckin’ rhyme or reason to them.”

“Hey!”

Harry finally finds his voice, and pulls his arm away from Jack’s grasp, though he almost immediately misses him holding it. He’s torn between delight at being the center of their focused attention and an instinct that says he can get even more of it if he pouts a bit.

“They have a reason. Just cos you don’t _know_ the reason--”

“Harry,” Niall laughs. “They’re not _all_ terrible, but come on.”

“Aww, we’re sorry, Harry,” Jack breaks in. “Come on Niall, if we don’t get him off soon he’s never gonna get a fuckin’ panda bear on his shin to commemorate this lovely night you’ve put on for him.”

“Alright, alright. Sorry, petal,” Niall capitulates.

He’s not really, though. And Harry doesn’t need him to be.

There’s a reason he’s still as hard as he was when Niall’s mouth left him, and Harry can’t honestly believe they’re playing him so well. They fucking knew _exactly_ , orchestrated every inch of this night with absolute precision, knowing every button to press on Harry. He pictures them again, talking about him when he’s not here, comparing notes, forming a consensus. It makes him fucking _wild_.

Jack presses a sweet kiss to the side of Harry’s neck and Harry relaxes back against his chest again, feeling lit from within under their attentive hands, which have gratifyingly returned to more important matters. Namely, Harry’s dick.

Jack rakes his fingers through Niall’s hair again, nudges his head gently back toward Harry.

“Go ahead, love.”

Harry chances looking down to watch as Niall plays his tongue just under the head of Harry’s cock. Niall looks up to meet Harry’s gaze through his lashes and his eyes are huge and blue and his tongue is so pink and Harry has to bite down painfully on his lower lip and turn away just to keep himself from coming all over Niall’s face right then and there.

Jack runs a soothing hand up Harry’s arm.

“He looks good, doesn’t he?”

Harry clutches at Jack’s thighs and nods, tense. He can already feel his balls drawing up, tight and tender against his body, and he’s frustrated with himself, not ready for this to be over yet.

“Fuck,” he mutters, as Niall goes down, fluttering his tongue against the vein that runs the underside of Harry’s cock, his hand covering what his mouth can’t reach.

“It’s okay, it’s alright,” Jack says, his arm like a vise around Harry’s waist to keep his hips from bucking forward, from giving Niall more than he can take.

Jack scratches his free hand across Harry’s chest, the barest hint of nails.

Without warning, Niall flattens his tongue and goes down further, Harry can feel the soft give of the back of his throat. Jack catches a nipple with his thumbnail and Harry makes a sound he’s never heard before.

“Oh, fuck. Fuck, wait! I’m-”

He can practically feel Jack’s smirk against his neck.

“Come on, Harry. It’s okay, come on.”

Jack snakes a hand beneath Harry and pushes a knuckle firmly into the soft skin just behind his balls. Harry’s back arches involuntarily and Niall swallows around the head of his cock and Harry might not be winning any awards for stamina tonight, but it’s his birthday and he gives in, digs his fingers into Jack’s thighs and lets everything go bright and blinding.

Coming down, everything feels heightened and far away all at the same time. He can only vaguely hear Niall panting against his thigh, like his ears are stuffed with cotton, but the image of Jack rubbing gently at Niall’s used mouth practically sears itself into Harry’s retinas.

He tips his head back to rest on Jack’s shoulder and goes boneless, letting Jack take on the burden of keeping him upright. He focuses on the three-part breathing he learned in his yoga challenge while Niall pushes himself up to his knees, his face sliding into Harry’s field of vision, flushed and a bit gross and unspeakably appealing.

Niall gives Harry a wry smile before tipping his face toward Jack, kissing him soundly. Harry almost expects Jack to pull away in disgust, but he leans into Niall hungrily, groaning in satisfaction, and Harry’s enough an occupant of his own body again to realize how hard Jack’s gotten, pressed firm against the small of his back.

Niall finally breaks their kiss to lean over to Harry, to scratch his nails through Harry’s hair again.

“Alright, Harry? You had a good time?”

Niall’s voice is thick and rough, his accent stronger than it usually is, and Harry’s cock can’t seem to go all the way down.

Harry nods furiously, still a bit dazed and untrusting of his own voice.

Niall rubs soothingly at Harry’s shoulder and tilts his head to the side.

“Well, we’ve got two options here.”

His hand skims down Harry’s arm and his thumb settles into the bend of Harry’s elbow.

“We can go to the lounge and watch Pretty Woman, finish off that wine you brought, have a cuddle. Or…”

Harry clears his throat, stomach tightening as Niall trails his hand down to take Harry by the wrist.

“Or?”

Niall directs Harry’s hand, gently, though Harry’s pliant and trusting enough to let Niall do whatever he wants now. It takes Harry two firm blinks and one light squeeze before he even believes his hand is cupping Niall’s dick, thick and hard and hot against his palm.

Jack’s fingers press into Harry’s waist, like a check-in. Harry’s free hand finds his and covers it. There’s a sort of power running through Harry, pulsing in from each of his hands. He’s like a jumper cable of sexual tension.

“You up for some more?” Jack asks. His fingers shift so they lace together with Harry’s.

Harry’s not a quitter. Never has been.

“Yeah,” he breathes. “Please.”

 ----


	2. Chapter 2

Harry’s still breathing hard, but when he feels how hard Niall’s gotten, just from having Harry in his mouth, he knows what he wants next. He grabs Jack’s shoulder to get himself upright, Jack letting him go easily, until he’s flush against Niall.

Niall tips his head up and allows him a kiss, a small gasp causing a hitch in the slick slide of their lips when Harry’s fingers finally close definitively around Niall’s dick.

Harry’s lips work their way down Niall’s jaw, latching onto his throat. He barely registers the movement on the bed behind him other than the hope that Jack will come up behind him and make them a literal sandwich of sexual tension, instead of just the metaphorical one they have been since December.

Niall tilts his head back after some time and looks down at Harry holding his cock firmly.

Harry has a flash of his mum laughing and telling people he used to do that all the time as a kid, he’d just walk around holding his willy, like it was some sort of security blanket, and his mum is not a thing to be thinking about when he’s in the middle of a threesome, so he banishes that thought quickly.

“You gonna do something, or are you just gonna hold it all night?” Niall asks, amused.

He’s been sucking on Niall’s neck for the better part of a minute to show him that there’s about a thousand incredible things Harry can do with his mouth and tongue, and it pains him greatly not to point all that out. But that’s not what the night is about.

Harry keeps hold of it anyway and says, “It’s your show, Niall.”

Niall looks back up at him, pleased– that was the right answer. “We’ve got plenty more planned for you. Is that okay?”

“I want it,” Harry says quickly. Too quickly? Fuck it, who cares at this point, he’s never felt so exposed in his life. And instead of terrified, he feels exhilarated. And wildly turned on.

“D’you wanna know what’s next on the agenda?”

Harry nods eagerly.

Niall nods off toward the side of the bed in response, and Harry follows his gaze to where Jack’s moved himself. He’s standing beside them, just watching, somehow managing to look both soft and hungry at once. His fingers play at the hem of his black t-shirt and Harry’s about three seconds away from shouting _take it off_ like he’s attending a drunken hen party at a Magic Mike tribute show.

“You’re going to open up on Jack’s fingers,” Niall says, like it’s a fact. And it is; Harry’s never met a challenge he couldn’t meet. And it isn’t so much a challenge as it is a privilege.

“Yeah,” Harry whispers, and for that confirmation, he gets a prize.

Jack lifts his shirt, revealing the kind of built torso that deserves hands on it at all hours of the day, just in casual worship.

Harry also locks a little tidbit away– you can avoid a Winnie the Pooh by going shirt first. Usually he’s in such a hurry to get his dick out, the shirt comes last.

“Then you’re gonna open up for his cock,” Niall adds casually. As though he were saying something as simple as, _then we’re going out for tea_.

Harry squeezes Niall’s dick reflexively when he gasps. Niall gently removes his hand, which Harry doesn’t understand– he’s hard, flushed, near enough to leaking. But then Harry loses his indignation when Jack strips his pants off.

Harry snaps his head to Niall, going wide-eyed and saying, like it’s news, “He’s perfect.”

“I know,” Niall laughs, like Harry’s gone daft, because of course it’s not news to him, they’ve been fucking each other for ages.

Harry turns back, tries to give a whistle using his fingers that sounds more like a _pthffthbbb_ until he gives it up for a regular whistle. Jack tilts his head in thanks, a grin eating its way across his features.

Jack straightens his shoulders into a lovely, upright posture Harry’s never been able to manage and runs a teasing hand down his chest as he slowly turns for his enraptured audience. Harry’s sad to lose sight of his dick– it looks like it’ll be the biggest he’s ever taken– but Jack’s arse is the kind they make sculptures of. If they made sculptures of just arses.

Jack twitches his hands, asking for applause that Niall and Harry eagerly provide, kneeling side by side together and knocking elbows, making general rubbish noises of delight over such a fine specimen– _good show, yes, jolly good, excellent showing that._

This is fun, Harry realizes. The whole thing’s just fucking _fun._  It’s not tense or charged, because there’s just no expectation. Not for Harry, who’s for once allowed himself to let go and go along for the ride. He never goes with the flow, not if he can help it, but he’s starting to see just why it appeals to Niall when he does.

Jack’s knees hit the edge of the bed in front of Niall, and he leans over to kiss him. His hand anchors against Niall’s face, holding him sweetly as they melt into a familiar kiss. Harry always likes that bit, for a while at least, the thought that someone out there is so practiced in the Art of Kissing Harry that they know just what to do.

Harry makes the critical mistake of blinking, and misses when Jack turns his face toward Harry’s. Jack kisses like he means it, confident enough that there’s almost no fumbling at all as they learn each other, as Jack strokes his tongue against the roof of Harry’s mouth, as he nips at Harry’s lower lip. It ends too quickly, Harry doesn’t even get to run his palm over Jack’s enticingly-stubbled jaw.

As Jack pulls away, Harry wonders if he’s ever seen his face this close before, in this level of high definition. Even with all the IMAX, it feels like a gift to notice how his eyes are a perfect mixture of grey and blue this close.

Jack rubs at the back of Harry’s neck, slow and comforting. “Seems like we should kiss at least once before I’m inside you, hm?”

“At least,” Harry answers, dazed.

His lips are still parted, aching for another kiss, as his head swivels to watch Jack climb back onto the bed behind him. He doesn’t get a kiss, but he is gifted with the tips of Jack’s fingers trailing gently down the length of his spine, the same way he’s been teasing Harry all night. It’s been gentle, fluttering touches, but soon enough they’ll be firm and thrusting, a long, crooking drag in and out of him.

The thought gets Harry pliant again, limbs becoming noodles as he allows himself to be maneuvered onto his front, into some sort of modified version of the balasana pose, with his arse suspended above his folded legs and his face in Niall’s lap. They shouldn’t tempt him this way, giving him an eyeful of Niall, who hasn’t waned at all in this time. It’s cruel.

Harry wonders if he sticks his tongue out all the way if he can catch Niall’s cock just at the base, but before he has a chance to try, Jack’s slow mapping of the length of his body pauses with a fingertip down the cleft of Harry’s arse. Harry shudders out a breath or two he hadn’t realized he was holding in.

“Harry,” Jack says incredulously.

Harry looks over his shoulder at Jack, suddenly fearful, even though he knows everything’s perfectly normal back there, has the confirmation and stunning recommendation of several doctors and underwear models alike.

“What?” he pants. “What’s wrong?”

“Did you wax your arsehole?”

Harry huffs out a laugh and drops his head to bury his face in his arms. He wriggles a little, hot and embarrassed and still wildly turned on under the weight of Jack’s appraising gaze.

“Niall,” Jack says wonderingly, “Look– he’s all shiny.”

Harry feels Niall’s hand settle on his back as he balances himself to lean over and peer at Harry’s bum. Harry’s face is burning and he’s not really sure he should like it quite as much as he does, that they’re talking about him like he’s not even really there.

Niall pulls Harry apart gently and hums softly. “Well, that’s something, isn’t it. You look like a pornstar– didn’t that hurt, Harry?”

Niall sits back and lifts Harry’s face up by the chin. Harry takes a quick peek, but doesn’t quite meet his eyes– Niall looks curious, but otherwise inscrutable, just to frustrate Harry. Just so Harry doesn’t know whether or not he’s done the right thing.

“I wanted to be hospitable,” Harry mutters.

Niall finally bursts into bright, pealing laughter.

“Hospitable! Well jesus, H. We appreciate the effort.”

Jack makes a low, affirmative noise.

“Thank you,” Harry responds primly, arranging himself to where he’d been. He wriggles his pristine, immaculately groomed arse a bit, hoping Jack will take the initiative to put his hands back on him.  

“You’re welcome,” Jack says, and without warning, slides his tongue right where Harry’s smooth, hairless, and desperate for it. So. That worked.

“Jesus _fucking christ_.”

Jack lifts his head and rests his chin on Harry’s tailbone. Harry can just imagine Jack grinning up at Niall as he says, “D’you know, I think he’s ready.”

“Go on then,” Niall answers breezily.

Right, go on then. Go on then, pour another cuppa, go on then, off for a cheeky pint with your mates. Go on then, fuck Harry till he’s screaming.

Harry widens his knees and shifts his head to watch Jack pull a bottle of lube and a condom out from under the pillow. He clenches his fist where it’s already tangled in the sheets thinking about them stashing it earlier, just to be prepared.

Jack pauses, then, his hand on Harry’s hip.

“Hey, look at me.”

“I am.” Harry’s got eyes on all the goods from this vantage point.

“No, _look_ at him,” Niall says, giving Harry’s chin a brief nudge.

Harry twists up to look him in the eye and is a bit taken aback by how serious he looks, how intent, not a single trace of the laughter from earlier. His voice is gentle, when he uses it, gentle and open.

“Is this okay?”

Harry nods, but it’s not enough to get Jack moving again, so he breathes, “Yeah. Yes, please.”

A slow grin breaks across Jack’s face, that lascivious one Harry’s known and loved for the better part of a year and a half, and that’s more like it.

Niall and Jack don’t laugh at the sound the bottle of lube makes when Jack coats his fingers, because they’re adults. Harry tamps down his urge to giggle so he can pretend to be a grown up too.

He doesn’t know where to put his hands, unsure if he’s allowed to put them on Niall, so he lays them out, still sort of yoga-like, beside Niall’s hips. Niall’s got a hand in Harry’s hair, making lazy, distracting strokes when Jack’s pushes his first finger in.

Harry gasps into Niall’s thigh, mouthing at it to keep himself from coming just from this, from clenching down tight around Jack’s finger. If he were _truly_ hospitable, he’d have prepped himself, and Jack could’ve gotten two fingers in him easy from the start.

Jack is gentle but persistent, pausing every now and then to run his tongue around where his fingers are disappearing into Harry, twisting them in and out in a steady rhythm. Harry fights with his own body, tries to relax into it, to make this easy for Jack. But as overwhelming and incredible as it feels, his muscles are still refusing to cooperate.

Harry’s always liked giving it a go from both ends– being the fucker and the fucked. Admittedly, he’s had more experience with the former; it’s always been a bit more difficult for him to find people to trust with the latter.

When Jack’s three fingers in, he hums, a pensive sort of noise. “Been a while, hm? So tight– you’ve been waiting for us, haven’t you?”

And god, that’s good. That helps, knowing that Jack likes having to work for it like this. Harry groans an affirmation and feels his hips loosen involuntarily, his spine arch further to push himself back onto Jack’s searching fingers.

“Ahh, there it is,” Jack whispers, gratified. “That’s perfect.”

Harry’s eyes close in gratitude and he shifts to nuzzle at Niall’s dick, his tongue darting out for a quick taste before Niall tips his chin back and says, “Not yet, petal.”

Harry blinks at him. Not _no, petal_ , but _not yet._ Only he doesn’t want _not yet_ , he wants it all _now_ , and he whines a bit, put out. He’s distracted just before he tips over the edge into utter Veruca Salt by Jack pulling his fingers away, leaving Harry momentarily bereft, so he can rip open a condom behind him.

There’s a moment of instant understanding, like the click of a puzzle piece in Harry’s mind, when Jack presses the tip of his cock against Harry, and suddenly he’s not whining anymore.

Harry would have choked on Niall’s cock the moment Jack pushed in, gasping and coughing, probably triggering some sort of unsexy asthmatic attack, and Harry is eminently grateful Niall’s thought to spare him the indignity.

A wail escapes Harry as Jack’s hips finally settle flush against Harry’s arse, one he can’t bottle up and shove back down deep inside him because there’s something too primal about it, too necessary.

Every slow, heavy thrust works another one out of him, and Harry’s thinking that surely he’ll get quieter soon, the more he gets used to the size, the feeling of Jack splitting him open. But he doesn’t, he can’t.

He feels completely full, his legs bracketed by Jack’s, his hips clutched in Jack’s hands. He’s barely aware of anything but the steady rhythm Jack’s giving him and the sound of Niall’s heavy breathing, somewhere up above Harry’s head.

Harry starts moaning for dual purposes then– dropping very loud, very obvious hints, and breathing hot against Niall’s cock.

Niall pushes Harry gently away by the chin. “So loud, christ. You’ll wake the neighbors.”

Harry looks up at Niall through his lashes and says, “Then shut me up.”

Niall sighs and grabs the base of his dick, finally, at long last, an invitation.

Harry grins a private little grin and sticks his tongue out to guide the head of Niall’s cock between his lips, sucking just gently at first. The angle is shit, but Harry is bound and determined to still be the best Niall’s ever had.

Jack’s fingers grip at Harry’s hips tighter, his rhythm faltering almost imperceptibly. He fucking loves this, Harry can tell. He loves the look of Harry sucking Niall’s cock, and it makes Harry want to put on a real show for him.

He pulls off to get up on all fours, gasping at the shift Jack inside of him. Niall frowns down at him, but doesn’t whine, because he’s an _adult_ or whatever, but he’s clearly displeased. He doesn’t stop Harry, lets him have that little bit of control, so Harry starts silently tugging at Niall until he’s arranged up on his knees how Harry wants him.

Harry wets his lips slowly, then looks back up at Niall.

“Is this okay?” Harry breathes.

Niall’s wide-eyed, taking in the whole of the scene, Harry crouched between them, the way Jack’s thrusts have slowed down in anticipation. “Yeah, jesus fuck, Harry. I _guess_.”

Harry huffs out a laugh and goes back down on Niall, bobbing his head shallowly, somewhat out of practice but savoring the weight of Niall on his tongue, the smoothness of his skin. He never, ever thought he’d get this but still, he’s greedy for more.

Harry pulls off once he notices Niall’s stomach is tensing and releasing and tensing again, and he knows what Niall needs. “You can hold my head.”

Niall looks nervous for the first time since they’ve left the dining table.

“Are you sure?” he asks doubtfully.

Harry’s breathless at the thought. “Please. Do it.”

Niall bites his lip in concentration as he acquiesces and places his hands gently on either side of Harry’s face. He rubs his fingers softly behind Harry’s ears and begins slowly rocking in and out of Harry’s mouth.

Niall and Jack start up a slow rhythm, give and take, and Harry thinks maybe he should feel used or something, the two of them thrusting into him, their hands holding him in place by his hips, his head. But that’s not how it feels– Harry feels cherished, taken care of, glowing under the focus of their shared attention.

Harry decides to show his appreciation by swallowing around the head of Niall’s cock. Niall’s fingers tighten at the back of Harry’s neck.

“He looks so fucking good on your cock, babe,” Niall whispers hoarsely, and it feels like a reward.

“Mm, could say the same to you.”

Harry can’t see either of their faces, but he knows they’re looking at him, all of him, how good he makes them feel, how his body isn’t made of flesh and blood anymore but a tangled combination of heat and desire and pleasure. He’s going out of his mind with it, out of his body– a straight up out-of-body experience, the likes of which he’s only ever really felt onstage.

He needs a release, he needs someone to touch his dick right now or he’s going to spontaneously fucking combust. He shifts his weight to balance on one arm and his eyes roll back in relief at the feeling of finally getting a hand around himself.

Thank christ for his thirty day yoga challenge. Core strength for days.

“Ah, no, none of that,” Jack says gruffly, taking a hand off Harry’s hip to bat at his shoulder. “I’ll take care of you. Niall– c’mere.”

Harry drops his hand back onto the bed immediately and Niall’s cock slips out of his mouth, leaving a trail of saliva and the precome across his jaw. It’s gross, it’s wonderful.

He twists to look up as Niall leans forward, licking long stripes across Jack’s proffered palm and Harry clenches in anticipation, causing Jack to exhale sharply through his nose.

Jack pulls his hand back from Niall and Niall glances down to meet Harry’s gaze. He smiles, small and secret, and reaches down to rub his thumb over Harry’s bruised lips. Harry sucks his thumb into his mouth, totally shameless, and bites down hard at the feeling of Jack wrapping his hand, slick with Niall’s spit, around Harry’s cock.

Jack’s hand is sure and practiced, his thumb rubbing relentlessly over the tip of Harry’s leaking cock. Oh god, he’s gonna come. Again. It’s a blow to Harry’s pride that he hasn’t actually managed to get either of them off at all yet.

He focuses on staving off his impending orgasm to get his mouth back on Niall, thinking wildly about tax forms and chalk dust, and he’s determined now, holding nothing back. He sucks hard at the tip and Niall groans above him, breaking into a whine when Harry pulls off to flutter his tongue just at the base, where his balls are heavy and full.

Niall trails his own hand down his stomach to wrap around himself and begins pulling himself off, careful of Harry where he’s mouthing at Niall’s balls. Harry wonders if Niall can tell he’s using the exact same rhythm on himself that Jack is using on Harry. Tax forms. Chalk dust.

Niall comes with a shout and Harry can feel it, spattering across his neck and shoulder, can feel Jack driving in harder, spurred on by Niall’s release. Heat gathers in Harry’s stomach, pulsing and insistent. Jack twists his hand viciously and Harry collapses onto his elbows, the top of his head pressed tight against Niall’s thigh, as he comes over Jack’s fist.

Niall’s hands find their way back into Harry’s hair and he scratches Harry’s scalp as Jack slows his hips till he’s barely moving.

“Y’aright?” Niall asks kindly, still breathing hard as he strokes the side of Harry’s face.

Harry feels about twenty-seven different ways at once, and _alright_ isn’t anywhere near enough to cover it. He feels like he’s been taken apart, like no one will ever be able to collect up the pieces to put him back together again. He wouldn’t mind it, if it meant he could stay stretched across this bed forever.

Niall’s hands are threatening to lull him to sleep, but just the smallest shift reminds him Jack’s still hard inside of him, nudging dangerously close to his prostate.

“Did– wait, Jack?” Harry pants. “Did you come?”

“Not yet,” Niall answers for him, his hand never slowing in Harry’s hair, even as he shifts to sit cross-legged in front of him. “Do you want him to?”

“Yes. Fuck me.” Harry struggles back up to his hands and knees, Jack’s hands firming on his hips to keep them steady. “C’mon.”

“You sure?”

The whole night’s been an exercise in certainty, as far as Harry’s concerned. Gravity is a solid maybe compared to how certain he is about this.

“Yeah,” Harry groans. “I wanna feel you tomorrow.”

“Jesus,” Jack breathes, already moving slowly, easing Harry back into it because he’s incapable of following simple instructions. “The things I do for you.”

“Yeah, I’m sure this is a real hardship,” Harry starts to say, but he barely gets the pun out before his words shift into a desperate moan when Jack finally picks up the pace.

Harry’s sensitive, on the edge of sore, but can’t imagine telling Jack to stop– he’s still greedy, desperate. He tells himself, over and over, that he can’t get hard again. It’s a physical impossibility at this point, but mere seconds later, between the slap of skin on skin, the slick drag of Jack inside him, and Niall’s hands still in his hair, he’s really… _really_ thinking about it.

Harry drops his head and stares at Niall’s ankle– it’s so skinny, a dainty little thing. Harry’s so busy wondering if he could wrap his hand all the way around it that it’s almost a surprise when Jack grunts and pushes him forward into Niall’s lap and comes. He hadn’t said anything, no warning, no discernable changes in his breathing or rhythm.

Harry’s potentially gifted enough at yoga to have found a way to twist in Niall’s lap and watch Jack’s face as he came, but that’s just a missed opportunity now.

Harry sighs, utterly content, and melts into the sheets like the wicked witch he is. He’s sore, just the way he wanted to be, twisting his hips for the feeling of it.

There’s shifting around him, business to attend to, but Harry can’t even open his eyes long enough to pay any mind to it.

There’s a tugging underneath him, gentle hands pressing against his torso until he’s rolling over to surrender the come-stained sheet.

“Shh, petal,” Niall says from somewhere behind him as Jack strips the bed.

He lets himself get maneuvered onto his back and further up into the bed, so Niall can wipe his neck, shoulder, stomach gently with a damp flannel.

He presses his face into Niall’s pillow, inhaling the deep, woodsy scent Niall’s cologne left behind. He hopes he leaves tomorrow smelling like this, so he’ll have a reminder that he was theirs for one night.

Harry squints up at Niall, his mouth tipping into a half smile as he carefully cleans him, until Niall pinches his thigh without warning. Harry’s face pinches in response, they can’t even manage a nice, uninterruptedly tender moment after Harry’s been fucked masterfully from both ends.

Niall drapes the flannel over Harry’s face and says, “Do Mr. Napkinhead.”

“Fuck off,” Harry answers, voice heavy and slow. He pulls the flannel from his face and chucks it clear across the room. Because it’s admittedly not terribly aerodynamic, in reality it flops onto the edge of the bed, then slides slowly onto the floor. But the effect is the same.

Niall doesn’t even bother picking it up, just slides into bed next to Harry and kisses him sweetly on the forehead. He’s sort of forgiven.

Niall rolls onto his side to go to sleep, his breathing evening out quick enough that Harry knows he’s feeling that same kind of satisfied exhaustion that’s weighing Harry down, pinning him to the bed.

Jack crawls in on Harry’s other side, pressing up into Harry’s back so he can reach across him to squeeze Niall’s hip. Niall pats at Jack’s hand and Harry likes being in between them in this way too. He melts back into Jack’s chest, savoring the heat and comfort of him.

“Happy birthday, Harry,” Jack whispers as he pulls up the duvet, his lips brushing against the back of his neck.

“Thank you,” Harry murmurs back, the only thing at all he can think of to say.

\----

**Author's Note:**

> They 100% Eiffel tower Harry. It’s his birthday.
> 
> Thank you very much for reading! If you need us, we are [here](http://veryniceandgood.tumblr.com) and [here](http://wickershire.tumblr.com). Tumblr post [here](http://veryniceandgood.tumblr.com/post/171279818831/veryniceandgood-your-birthday-suit-jack).


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